


Quality Cloth

by Squeemish



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, Gen, M/M, bad pick-up line
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 08:14:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17936114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeemish/pseuds/Squeemish
Summary: What are Starfleet uniforms made of...?





	Quality Cloth

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this art](http://whiskerknittles.tumblr.com/post/181962508732/i-like-when-garak-makes-julian-all-shy-and-blushy) by whiskerknittles on Tumblr!

“What is it made of?” asked Garak, blinking at him, innocent as he often claimed to be. Julian frowned in confusion.

“Sorry?”

“Your uniform, Doctor. As a tailor, I can't help but to wonder what material Starfleet has chosen to perform under such multitude of tasks.”

“Uh…” Julian tugged his sleeve and rubbed the smooth cloth between his fingers. ”I'm not quite sure. Fabrics aren’t my area of expertise.”

Garak stepped closer, inclined his head while looking up from the sleeve to Julian, reaching to touch.

“May I?” He asked. Julian offered his arm with a shrug.

“Well, yes, if you like _aaahhh..!_ ”

The gentle inspection of a sleeve quickly became a handsy embrace, as firm palms roamed his waist and back in circular motions, pressing deep and nearly through the fabric in their exploration. Julian had to wrap his trembling arms around Garak’s neck, as it was conveniently there, clutching tight to fight the sudden jelliness of his legs.

“Hmm, ” said Garak and tapped a claw on Julian’s shoulder, “How interesting.”

“What?” Julian snapped his head up to scowl at him, startled by the proximity of smirking lips. _Close enough to kiss._ “What's it made of?”

Garak told him. Julian stared, owlish, at the smug, beautiful face and burst into laughter, shoulders shaking as he giggled.

“Boyfriend…” He muttered at the floor, shaking his head. With a smile he looked back up, a glance both coy and accusing given through hooded eyes, “Who taught you that?”

Smiling lips pecked his cheek. Julian felt the flare of a blush, knowing it to be barely visible on his skin even as it burned bright against the cool kiss.

“I’ll tell you over dinner,” whispered Garak, nose pressed to Julian's temple, “...In my quarters.”


End file.
